


Just an Ordinary Day

by EliseCollier



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Clawen, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Family Drama, Having kids in the Jurassic World is no bed of roses, Humor, Laughter is the best medicine and the third-greatest gift, Life unfiltered, Marriage, This is parenthood, Time jump post-Fallen Kingdom, keeping it real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 02:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15719721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliseCollier/pseuds/EliseCollier
Summary: A day in the life of the Dearing-Grady clan in the not-too-distant future, as viewed through the eyes of Claire. They may be the parents of the new world, but the smaller-scale concerns of marriage and family make them no different from countless other couples. Humor, hardships, and heart for Clawen.





	Just an Ordinary Day

**Author's Note:**

> My own experiences as a mother inspired me to write this oneshot. Thanks to my betas, MsBlackOut and akaJB, for their contributions and encouragement. I considered two subtitles for this story: “Make ‘Em Laugh” and “Be Careful What You Wish For.”

"O-O-Owen," Claire stuttered as her body's pleasurable convulsions ceased. While he crawled out from under the sheet and tucked himself next to her, she hummed contentedly. "That's superior to coffee for rousing me in the mornings." He didn't want her drinking coffee, so it was the least he could do. "Your turn." She kissed him lightly on the lips before starting to trail her hand down the front of his body. He abruptly gripped her wrist and let out a frustrated sigh.

"No time," Owen said huskily. "Gotta get to the lab. That was an advanced thank you for chauffeuring the kids." He gave her a quick peck on the tip of her nose before rolling out of bed. Claire smacked her palm against her forehead. She'd forgotten about this morning. The sharp instrument that was her brain hadn't been firing on all cylinders lately. She rubbed her belly and sighed. In less than four months, they'd have another one. She wondered if they were ready to do the baby thing again. Too late now. Already, her midsection protruded with the subtlety of an overweight cow, and she prayed her boobs wouldn't turn into udders. There was no denying the changes to her body. For weeks, it had been impossible to hide at work.

Standing in front of his and hers sinks, Claire felt unattractive and old. She grimaced at her reflection, grumbling aloud, "Geriatric pregnancy." Owen rubbed her back tenderly but continued shaving and didn't say a word. He'd tolerated her near constant complaining about this OB/GYN classification for months. There were no words of reassurance left. Unbidden, she rolled her eyes. Couldn't he just remind her she was beautiful? One more time? As she contemplated her appearance, she searched for the silver lining and mused, "My hair's thickening back up...temporarily at least." Long-gone were her luxuriant tresses, but her hair wasn't falling out like it had been immediately following her first pregnancy.

"Great," scoffed Owen. "Now, I'M the only one going bald." He was being playful, so she responded in kind by slapping him lightly across the chest. She giggled until she noticed his forlorn expression as he raked his fingers through his hair, parting the follicles as if to check their population.

"You could always shave it all off to make it less obvious, like Barry did." Owen had promised himself he would never stoop to that tactic, but his current expression betrayed a serious consideration of the idea. She snorted then scrunched her nose. "On second thought, you have an ugly-shaped head. That would never work." He pinched her ass, causing her to jump.

"Love you, too, babe," he said flippantly as he retreated from the bathroom. Claire sensed his underlying annoyance and hoped it was just the stress of grant-writing. Regardless, she was only half-teasing him. She cringed internally at the thought of her roguish partner with a shaved head.

Dragging her ass into the shower, she knew she needed to rush. This would not be a relaxing, deep cleanse. As she smoothed the conditioner into her hair, the shower curtain was suddenly pulled open.

"Hi, Mama." Emmett grinned at her like the little red-headed devil he could be. She wasn't startled by this regular occurrence. Privacy was an endangered species in parenthood, a distant fantasy as elusive as a full night's sleep or a fart in the wind.

"Let Mama finish," she admonished with a calmness she didn't feel. "Go pick out your clothes."

Before the nearly-four-year-old moved, a draft blew his scent into the shower stall. The pungent stench of urine filled her nostrils, confirming her suspicion that he leaked out of his pull-up overnight. Oh, joy. This was another unfortunately common occurrence. She groaned at the thought of having to wash his sheets again. "Did you wet the bed?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Sorry, Mama." He puckered his lips into something between a pout and a smirk. The mischievous cad wasn't sorry. Emmett dashed away before she could respond. Claire and Owen wanted him fully potty-trained before the baby. Their tactics weren't working so far. At least they broke him of the pacifier, by bribing him with toys.

She made her way downstairs with a fully dressed Emmett in tow just as Owen was stepping out the door, coffee thermos in-hand. Rubbing it in, she fumed silently at her husband with another eye roll. "Maisie," he called over his shoulder, "don't let your mom touch that coffee." He winked in his wife's direction and added, "Goodbye, Mrs. Grady," before fading from view. Claire's shoulders sagged. She'd legally hyphenated her last name as a compromise, but now it seemed like a joke to him. Her gaze shifted to Maisie, whose mouth curled up on one side while she poured the remainder of the coffee pot into a travel mug for herself. Claire gave the teen the evil eye.

"What?" Maisie almost snarled. "I'm in high school now. It'll help me get into a good college." Claire couldn't contain her eye roll. Her extra-ocular muscles were starting to get sore. "I know what you're thinking, Mom, but I'm not going to Stanford. I refuse to be on the same campus as you and Dad." Her arrogant tone was accompanied by a dramatic crossing of arms and flipping of hair. Two months into freshman year and the sass had exponentially increased. What happened to their proper, docile girl? Claire's hand instinctively went to her belly. She felt a mixture of excitement and guilt for the "do-over."

After they were all piled into the car and backing out of the driveway, Emmett screamed, "My duckie! I need Duckie!" Claire squeezed her eyes shut as if to deny reality for a moment. Emmett wailed loudly. Apparently, his world was about to end.

"Maisie," she said after a deep breath, "could you get your brother's duckie? It's on his bed." Claire's internal inventory rarely failed her. Despite life's distractions, including baby brain, it was her job to know these things. Owen - much to her chagrin - gave up long ago trying to keep track of their kids' belongings.

Maisie huffed loudly and growled, "Fine."

"Thank you, sweetie." Claire relaxed, very thankful not to fight over who should retrieve the precious stuffy. More than once, Owen refused such scavenger hunts due to her already knowing the desired object's precise location. The victory with Maisie was, however, short-lived. Emmett stopped crying when he saw his sister returning with Duckie in-hand. She then chucked it forcefully onto his lap, prompting him to start sobbing all over again. That boy could switch on a dime. One moment, he's Claire's curly-haired angel; the next he's an acid-spewing beast.

When Emmett finally gave up on his crying jag, Maisie remained silent and brooding. Staring out the passenger's side window. "Do you know what you'll be learning today?" asked Claire, trying to draw the girl out.

"Of course, Mom, you know I read ahead." Ignoring the venom in her words, it pleased Claire to see herself in Maisie. Even if she didn't talk back like this at Maisie's age. Claire was always the dutiful daughter in high school - not wanting to mess up her chance at freedom from her family via college. She was also closer to her dad, just like Maisie had always been since the three of them became a family. Now was not the time to dwell on that fact.

"What is it?" Claire asked with genuine curiosity when she caught Maisie laughing to herself.

"Oh, I was just thinking about a funny story my drama teacher told us about Teddy." Claire winced. She was tired of hearing about the school's famous alumnus and recent Oscar winner, James Franco, who had donated funds to upgrade the auditorium. He even attended the ribbon-cutting. Maisie and her friends were currently obsessed with him, binging _Freaks and Geeks_ and a plethora of inappropriate-for-14-year-olds movies at sleepovers. They'd giggle about knowing him by his "real name" of Teddy. Claire inquired facetiously, "Oh, please tell me what new and exciting thing you learned about him this time."

Maisie scoffed, "Teddy is much more interesting than you."

"Hey! Your dad and I have a lot of great stories."

"They're all about dinosaurs! Dinosaurs are for kids."

"I like dinosaurs," chimed in Emmett.

"Thank you, sweetie," tutted Claire.

"Dinosaurs poop!" Emmett added before getting lost in peals of laughter. Anything poop related was apparently hilarious to him. All she had to do was say 'butt,' and the kid launched into a fit of giggles.

Maisie sighed with annoyance, "Can I take the bus in the mornings from now on?"

Claire's brow furrowed. Maisie was slipping away faster than she initially feared. She and Owen used to enjoy carpooling the kids to school together every day. Claire was doing it solo more and more now that he was busier with his PhD research. She had to remind herself that things were never 50/50 in marriage at a given moment in time. It would even out eventually. Or so she hoped. Claire yawned unconsciously, eliciting a vicious chuckle from the teenager beside her. Maisie loudly sipped her coffee and emitted a dramatic "ahhhh." Claire didn't miss the cocky smirk either. It brought out another eye roll. The already harried mom decided that today was going to be one of those days when it might be fun to keep a tally as part of a counting game. Hell, she'd be reciting the numbers like a Muppet pretty soon.

The morning took a decidedly upbeat turn after the car ride. Claire dove into her responsibilities at Alumni Relations. She felt useful, important, and skilled. All things sadly lacking in her home life - being elbow deep in diapers and tantrums on high repeat ranked low when it came to job satisfaction. Her time spent schmoozing and networking in Jurassic World operations and as the DPG founder made her well-suited to her current job. She loved it. Her mind off family woes, the morning was incredibly productive with rewarding personal interactions. Claire felt like herself again. She should've known it wouldn't last.

Owen texted her at the last minute to cancel their planned meet-up for lunch on campus. He 'lost track of time' and couldn't break away from his project. She wanted to hurl the phone across the room. Much like the carpooling, she and Owen used to have lunch more regularly than they were now. It was supposed to be a perk of their both being at Stanford. They could have 'adult time,' just the two of them, mid-day. It grounded her when Emmett was a baby. Made the relatively chaotic evenings more manageable. She begrudgingly added her request to the office's Chinese take-out group order. Maybe her larger appetite this pregnancy was responsible for her larger belly, after all. Food had never been a comfort or coping mechanism for her in the past - even during her first pregnancy - but she couldn't stay away from carbohydrate-rich meals recently, especially after her morning sickness resolved.

Shortly after lunch came the 'eater's remorse.' On top of her regret at binging, Claire noticed salt-induced swelling in her ankles and fingers. Pregnancy was not a magical time. Her rings suddenly felt tight, and she daydreamed about the days before children. Before the binds of marriage. Her reverie was disrupted by her text tone. It was Karen: _How's it going?_

_Not a good day for me._

_Heard that one before._

_Including the same day you told me that kids were worth it. It's one of those days that they're not._

Claire almost jumped when the phone rang. She rolled her eyes at the sight of Karen's thumbnail photo on the screen. Oh right, tally – had to be around fifty by now.

"What's going on, Claire?"

"Owen's busy all the time, Maisie doesn't care what I think anymore, and Emmett is bipolar."

"So, parenthood?"

"Screw you."

"When you're in my position and have an empty nest, you'll be missing these times."

"Oh, fuck you."

"Owen's sailor mouth has finally rubbed off on you, Claire-Bear." Karen's tone was patronizing.

Claire huffed, "Don't you have some line of Mom's that you can share in this moment to make me feel better?"

"I thought those made you feel worse." Karen sounded worried, not condescending.

"I understand things differently now." Claire's voice was barely audible. She couldn't believe she'd said that aloud, but it was true. Times had certainly changed. Karen sighed heavily on the other end of the line.

"You haven't felt her move yet, have you?" Claire remained silent. Her sister knew her too well, and they'd been closer than ever since her first pregnancy. "You didn't feel Emmett until week 23. It's fine. It's normal. You were like this then, too." Claire started to cry. This was decidedly new...and awkward, ever so awkward. She hadn't cried to Karen the first time. She'd been too anxious for tears. It's probably why Emmett was small for his age. The guilt of motherhood knew no bounds. It was little wonder she was crying. "Did you have a cup of coffee today?" No use lying to Karen, she seemed to have an inside line.

"Half-caf today," said Claire, sniffling. She alternated sneaking a full or half-caf cup of coffee from the break room almost every day. Those little rebellions were all she had anymore.

"You should've gone for the full caf," Karen replied flatly. Claire was thankful her sister couldn't see her eye roll. After a brief silence, Karen added, "One cup a day is okay even if Owen doesn't approve. It's your body anyway."

"And my sanity," Claire corrected.

"Exactly. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"That's impossible."

"I know. I love you."

"I love you, too. Thanks, Karen."

Claire managed to salvage the afternoon. There were enough tasks to keep her mind stimulated. When she left to pick up Emmett at day care, she had regained her sense of accomplishment. Also, no one had tried to touch her baby bump or make unsolicited predictions about her pregnancy...not yet, at least. She still didn't understand why people did that at all. She never even thought to do it to her own sister, but strangers? It was like they assumed that, once you were obviously pregnant, your belly was an open petting zoo and you required mystic predictions without the aid of a crystal ball or any factual basis whatsoever.

It happened too many times to count when she was at the end of Emmett's pregnancy. There were variations of, "It'll be a boy...you're carrying him so low," nearly every day. Most of the facial expressions were sappy, too. Fortunately, one of her co-workers hadn't sugar-coated things and warned, "Your life is over." Maisie had been a great help - Lockwood, Iris, and Mills had honestly raised more of a small adult than a child - but Emmett still changed everything for them all. For a second time. Or did it count as the third time for Claire?

The little boy was in a jovial mood during the car ride home. Claire thought it might be good idea to go to the lake house for the weekend. They could all use some relaxation time away from suburbia. It helped that cell reception was poor and internet speed slow. Claire liked to unplug when possible. She bit her lip, worrying that Owen couldn't do that this particular weekend. At the sound of Emmett's giggling, she decided to shrug it off.

"Do you like being with Mama, sweetie?"

"Yes," he answered. Claire felt herself tearing up, but the poignancy faded quickly. Emmett kicked her seat gleefully and asked, "Do you like guns, and swords, and butts?"

"No," she sighed, blowing the hair from her eyes. "That's just you." She gave in and started laughing along with him.

When she opened the garage door, it was empty. Great, Claire thought, cooking dinner's on me again. She pursed her lips and lamented that Owen's 'advanced thank you' from that morning was probably for more than just her playing chauffeur.

She plopped Emmett in front of whichever season of _Power Rangers_ he was currently enjoying on Netflix. She was alternately grateful and annoyed that there were 30 years of content for him to binge. Alas, the theme music was an ear worm, permanently lodged into place and sometimes haunting her at the most inopportune moments.

Claire kissed the top of Maisie's head while the teen was doing her homework, as usual, at the dining room table. To her delight, Maisie didn't shrug her off or grumble in displeasure at the affection. Perhaps the day had truly turned around. After changing out of her work clothes, Claire assembled the ingredients for chicken sausage risotto and started cooking. She hummed happily to drown out the noise of clashing Zords and hammy acting emanating from the living room.

When Owen finally arrived home, he kissed his wife on the cheek and whispered his thanks. She glanced quickly at the clock, reading 6:45pm, but held her tongue and suppressed the urge to roll her eyes – she'd lost count of her tally by this stage. He was home, and their family dinner would be intact. That was all that mattered.

Maisie joined them in the kitchen, books tucked under one arm, and made a face at the simmering pot on the stove.

"What's wrong, silly sausage?" Claire teased. She rarely invoked Maisie's pet name from her Lockwood nanny but felt it was appropriate under the circumstances. The girl rolled her eyes. Maybe she needed to keep a tally, too.

"That's a baby nickname," she protested. Claire countered with her own eye roll but held the 'touchy' that was sitting on the tip of her tongue. Owen put his arm around their adoptive daughter and led her to the living room to greet Emmett.

Once they were all seated for the meal, Owen gently reminded Maisie of their family rule: 'No devices at the table.' Claire squeezed his hand in gratitude under the table. He knew she hated playing 'bad cop,' especially when she'd had the kids for the majority of the day. She had ample opportunities to play disciplinarian already, so it wasn't fair for him to be viewed as the 'good cop.'

Maisie and Owen talked animatedly about their days while Claire was content to sit back and enjoy the moment. No one was really interested in what she did for a living anyway. It was something that was just hers, and that fact was bittersweet. Emmett picked the mushrooms out of the risotto, as anticipated, but everyone just ignored him this time. At least he wasn't sticking them up his nose. 'Choose your battles' had been Claire's most reliable mantra for the last five years. It was put to the test more often in recent months, however.

Shortly after Emmett excused himself to go to the bathroom, he called out, "Mama, wipe my butt!" Claire groaned before placing her palms on the table to stand.

"Don't do it, Claire," Owen admonished, "You're just reinforcing his behavior." She hated it when he used his behaviorist voice. Barely perceptible, though, was the edge of jealousy in his tone - served him right. Maybe if he was more attentive to his son's belongings and didn't leave that up to Mama, they'd be on more equal footing with the boy.

Claire lifted her chin haughtily and replied, "I'd rather take care of this on the front end than the back end."

Owen and Maisie snorted in unison and made the same face, restraining themselves from laughing at her unintended pun. Claire's eyes slitted at them. "The kid produces skid marks that would intimidate the most skilled drifters in Tokyo, and he can't even drive. I either wipe him now or end up scrubbing the stains out of his underwear in the laundry room!" Laundry had become the adult version of _The Neverending Story_ , a shared favorite movie of Claire and Owen's from childhood. Now, it was a just a sick joke. Gallows humor. "Unless either of you'd like to do the laundry..." Her voice trailed off as she glowered at them.

Maisie put her hands up and deflected, "Not my job, Mom. I take care of Sierra." Claire turned toward Owen and raised her eyebrows.

"Really?" he scoffed. "You want to trade? Alright, you mow the lawn." Claire sighed. This was not a battle she'd win.

"Fine. I do the laundry." They would do it wrong anyway. She had a system, and they knew it. Hers was always an empty threat. Tapping her fingers impatiently on the table, she threw out a last-ditch query. "Could you at least help me out by buying less high maintenance gym clothes? You know, ones that can actually go in the dryer?"

"Hey, I like what I like," answered Owen, a playful smirk lighting up his face. "You're high maintenance, and I'm not replacing you." As Claire finally stood to assist Emmett, an image of throwing her flatware at Owen ghosted through her mind. It seemed like everyone, including their calico cat, was high maintenance these days. Another inside joke as well as a lesson in genetics for Maisie, Sierra had never warmed up to Claire, who'd wanted a dog instead. Something loyal and obedient. Yes, something obedient would be fantastic.

When whipped mother and manipulative child returned to the dinner table, Maisie was holding Sierra on her lap and seemingly taunting the one canine lover in the family. The girl somehow managed to get the cat to hiss at Claire, who was suddenly thankful that Owen didn't allow her near Sierra's area in the basement. Similar to avoiding caffeine, he meant to minimize her risk of toxoplasmosis. Claire didn't like all his 'rules' for protecting the baby. It contributed to her uncertainty about where she ranked in importance among the household with him. "We should've gotten a dog," mused Claire, largely being rhetorical.

"Cats are the smarter animal," Owen challenged. "You have to earn their love and respect. Dogs give it too freely. Cats make you work for it and keep you on your toes."

"Like raptors." Her tone was biting. This had been a long unspoken thing. It wasn't coincidental that "Sierra" came from the same military-endorsed, phonetic alphabet as Charlie, Delta and Echo. Emboldened in her current mood, Claire wouldn't let it slide this time. No more avoidance or games between adults. They stared at each other in silence. When Owen finally looked down at his plate, she quipped, "Maybe we should get Emmett that pet ankylosaurus he wants. They're engineering ones now that are only the size of a shoebox." Emmett subsequently smiled from ear-to-ear, but Owen's face scrunched in disgust.

Owen and Maisie did the dishes together while Claire rested on the sofa and watched Emmett play. Exhaustion was sinking its claws into her earlier and earlier as her pregnancy progressed. She half-heartedly tried to redirect the boy's behaviors, her voice getting slightly louder each time she asked him to settle down. Emmett was running around the room, turning everything into a gun, and making "pew, pew" noises non-stop. Claire's nerves were slowly fraying. When he stuck a broom handle inches in front of her face, it was the last straw.

"Emmett Jason Grady, stop!" she shouted.

"Hey," called Owen, teasing, from the kitchen. "It's okay for YOU to drop the Dearing?" Like Claire, both of their children legally had hyphenated last names.

"When he misbehaves like this," she sneered, "he's ALL your son." Emmett ran past Claire toward the kitchen, and she noticed the plastic scalpel from his toy doctor's kit tucked into his waistband in back. He promptly pulled the 'knife' on his Dad, who took it out of the boy's hand and looked dejectedly at Claire.

"See?" she smirked. "All yours. He didn't learn THAT from me." Owen turned to his son with a stern face.

"You don't point weapons at people," he said kindly. "Okay, buddy?"

"Yes, sir," Emmett responded, giving a little salute with his right arm and batting his long eyelashes with practiced charm. He was wearing an adorable shit-eating grin, too. Claire and Owen both laughed, fully aware that was something else the boy had learned exclusively from his dad. Emmett returned to the sofa and cuddled into Claire's side. The sanctity of a power nap was thoroughly destroyed by the rambunctiousness of her little scoundrel, who had the audacity to pick her nose as she was drifting off. Was it bedtime yet? Surely, it had to be.

Emmett played his favorite nighttime game of splitting his parents by refusing to get into his pajamas or brush his teeth for Owen. "Only Mama," the boy pouted repeatedly.

"I give up," responded the frustrated dad, stalking away.

When he found her, Claire taunted mockingly, "You're only reinforcing his behaviors."

Owen's resultant glare just served to elicit another eye roll from her - was that 134 today? He left to help Maisie prepare her lunch as Claire discovered an obedient Emmett raising his arms to hug his beloved Mama. She cherished these moments, acutely aware of the boy's rapidly shifting moods. Just a few minutes later, Emmett was paying more attention to his toys than her lullaby. The song, 'Baby Mine' from _Dumbo_ reworked as 'Emmett Mine,' might have been more soothing to mother than child.

The sounds of Maisie chatting on the phone were obvious as Claire walked by the teen's closed bedroom door. Moving downstairs, she found Owen opening the mail. Bills and junk didn't take long to sort. Claire took a deep breath. Now was as good a time as any to bring up a discussion topic that weighed heavily on her mind. She didn't want to argue about it for the next few months. She wanted it settled.

"Owen, I don't want to attempt the VBAC."

He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this now, Claire."

"You never want to talk about it. You want to dictate it." It was his turn to roll his eyes. "I'm tired of you trying to control me so much." He smacked his palms on the counter.

"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black." His tone was more bitter than she'd heard in years. They postured at each other. Claire chose this battle. It was worth it to her.

"It's my body, Owen."

"So you said the first time, when you refused to try the version." She hadn't realized that this was still a sore spot for him. Emmett went breach late in the pregnancy - he'd been small enough to do so. The obstetrics staff at Stanford's teaching hospital encouraged Claire to attempt a version procedure, to right Emmett's position and preserve the couple's want for a natural delivery. Ultimately, Claire felt too anxious about the potentially painful procedure and its possible negative outcomes. She accepted more easily the risks of a c-section. When all was said and done, she didn't feel deprived of some essential maternal experience. Neither did Owen, or so she thought. Seeing his face as he brought Emmett to her for skin-to-skin contact in the operating room was the greatest moment of her life.

"There's enough uncertainty in our lives," she declared. "I want to schedule a repeat c-section with the same surgeon I had for Emmett."

"You're being selfish." Her eyes bore into him like daggers, but he didn't flinch. "All surgeries carry risks. I thought we agreed on wanting it to be natural."

"Four years ago!" Not wanting to disturb the children, she spoke through a clenched jaw and conveyed her anger with her tightening fists. Her knuckles whitened as she gave a snort of derision. "Life is not as simple as it was back then."

"Life is never simple with you." Claire stepped back, hurt by his tone. She didn't understand why he wasn't in favor of the repeat c-section. Was that actually what they were arguing about or was there something more? Maybe he was merely overwhelmed by his research. She could hope. Finally, he breathed out. Was he holding it in? "I'm sorry, Claire. I shouldn't have snapped. You're just hard to deal with when-"

A muscle under her eye twitched, "Don't you dare insinuate it's 'pregnancy hormones talking!'" He'd made that accusation last time - only once because she let him have it afterwards. She even threatened to leave him. Claire started to dissociate, flashing back to that awful day. Owen wisely clammed up, and she was able to maintain her grip on reality. She knew they had their issues, but when did they have the time or energy to work on them? The day-to-day tasks took precedence. An ironically pregnant pause gave them time to defuse, and they exchanged a sad look before Owen walked out of the kitchen. She didn't want to fight anymore tonight either. She said her piece. He needed to accept it.

Now, what Claire most wanted was a glass of buttery Chardonnay - another thing he wouldn't let her have. She conceded, however, that neither she nor her doctor disagreed with that particular edict. She decided to settle for watching _Sex and the City_ while sipping organic fruit juice from a martini glass and fantasizing it was a cosmopolitan. After two episodes, she was too tired to continue. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the sofa. Just then, she felt a kick from inside. It was a dramatic jolt. Enough to startle her awake.

Claire sprang up in bed. Cold sweat on her brow. Heart pounding in her chest. It was pitch black and quiet, save for Owen's steady breaths. Her right hand reflexively flew to her flat stomach. Her left hand reached out for the top of Owen's head. She breathed a sigh of relief, and her finger pads rubbed for further confirmation. Her body was still very tense.

"Claire, what's wrong?" Owen's concerned voice sounded like velvet to her.

"Nothing," she whispered. "Just a nightmare." She didn't have nightmares. None of them did. Despite all the trauma, they had been resilient. Not even a hint of PTSD after either incident.

He sighed, "I'm sorry." Claire felt herself deflating. She wanted to be absorbed into the mattress.

"You don't have to apologize, Owen. It's on me. I asked if you wanted more children."

"I didn't mean to put pressure on you."

"I know, I know." She didn't want to have this conversation now. Not after that vivid dream. Her respiratory and heart rates were finally starting to normalize. She continued to rub his scalp to soothe them both.

"What're you doing?" She could hear the curious smile in his voice.

"Stimulating the follicles, promoting growth."

"More children is associated with me having less hair?" His voice almost cracked.

"Your hairline's been receding for years," she deadpanned. "You're in denial. I'll buy you Rogaine tomorrow." She tried to keep things light, but they both acknowledged the increasingly less subtle truth. Too bad the larger issue at-hand was a bigger elephant in the room. Claire was trembling slightly, so Owen sat up and pulled her into his arms.

"One helluva bad dream, huh?"

Turning her face up to his with a devious grin, she smirked, "Some of it was good." He quirked a brow, and she waggled hers in response. Her meaning was crystal clear.

"Phew," he said with an overly dramatic sigh. "Glad to hear our sex life remains intact." After a brief silence, he added seriously, "I wasn't asking you to remove your IUD, you know that...right?" She merely nodded and brought her lips to his. The contact was tender, familiar, and more soothing than anything she'd ever known. She couldn't contain her whimper when he pulled back suddenly. "It's not SO obvious yet...my hair?" Claire laughed at his adorable self-consciousness. Her confident raptor trainer, brought down by something as mundane as male-pattern baldness.

"Not yet," she teased, "but within a few years, you'll be my very own Velveteen Rabbit."

"As long as I'm still yours, that's the most important part of the future for me."

"I think I can handle that." She kissed him quickly before laying back down. Owen pulled her body into his with a strong hand on her abdomen. Shivering pleasurably at his touch, she hoped to dream of Caveman Coffee and La Crema Chardonnay. They were both so content that they missed the sound of their bedroom door swinging open. The first sound Claire did hear elicited an eye roll behind her closed lids.

"School day or stay-home day, Mama?" Emmett's tone was far too exuberant for this early in the morning.

"It's a stay-home day," she grumbled, still refusing to open her eyes. "Go back to bed."

"Okay, Mama...Dada." Claire heard a kissing noise before the door slammed shut.

Rolling to face Owen, she finally opened her eyes and announced bluntly, "He is definitely our last one."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope I struck good balance between the drama and the humor. Please let me know your thoughts on this one and share your own subtitles :)


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